Deserted Island Survival Diary

I am so cold, so much in pain, and so hungry. Yet, this feeling brings me a sense of relief—for at least, I am still alive.

When the cruise ship capsized, I was forced to leap into the frigid sea. That bone-deep chill remains vivid in my memory. Later, I clung to a wooden plank, which bore me along for what felt like an eternity, until my limbs grew numb and I remembered nothing more.

Now, I want nothing more than to sleep. My eyelids are unbearably heavy. Even so, my churning stomach refuses me even this small comfort.

The lapping of the waves is like a lullaby, lulling me toward slumber. I want so desperately to give in. Yet in the end, I open my eyes.

As expected, I am completely submerged in seawater, tossed and rocked like a piece of driftwood. I do not know how much time has passed, only that it must have consumed the last of my strength, but at length I manage to pull myself from the icy water.

Though I moved no more than ten meters, at least now I lie upon dry sand. The sunlight warms the grains beneath me, and exhaustion drags me into sleep once more.

When I awaken again, it must be afternoon. The heat is oppressive. I have a premonition—if I do not move, I will be roasted alive.

Survival instinct rouses me to my feet, though every fiber of my being resists. I am so thirsty; my throat burns as though aflame, my lips are cracked. Hunger gnaws at me—I would give anything for a bowl of rice, no, for ten bowls…

Every inch of my skin, muscle, and bone aches. Not far away, I spot several tall coconut palms.

At last